Let the Chips Fall Where They May
by Erisella
Summary: Eames has no totem, just an item full of sentimental value. When he loses it after a job gone south, Arthur decides to retrieve it for him as he feels he's responsible.


**Let the Chips Fall Where They May**

**Summary: **Eames has no totem, just an item full of sentimental value. When he loses it after a job gone south, Arthur decides to retrieve it for him as he feels he's responsible.

…~~~~…~~~~…

**Note:** I don't own Inception.

…~~~~…~~~~…

"Is that your totem?" Ariadne asked, leaning in, watching as Eames flipped the poker chip from finger to finger.

"No," the forger said with a smile as he pocketed the item, "Besides, it would be too common and simple of an item for Arthur's tastes. I'm sure he would have reprimanded me if it were."

"Then what is it?" the architect asked, leaning closer, eyeing the item with intense curiosity.

"That's a story for a different day," Eames replied with a smile as he pocketed the item. The young woman immediately backed away, not realizing she had been invading his personal space until that moment. He almost laughed at the blush that flared up around her cheeks.

"What are you two doing?"

They both looked up in time to see Arthur walking toward them, a perplexed expression on his face as he crossed the space between them. Eames noticed the way Ariadne straightened at the sight of the point man, her focus more alert. _Poor girl's still a little intimidated by all of this, _the forger thought with a smirk.

"Nothing," the architect answered, "Just chatting."

"You're going to have to cut it short," the point man said, waving one hand, signaling Ariadne to join him, "We have to complete the layout of the dream and after you explain it to me we're going to have to send you off to the airport."

"You're really going to kick me out?" the young woman asked in disbelief, though she had known at the start of their contract that she wouldn't be there to complete the job.

"You have to go back to school," Arthur replied, calm and cool, "Besides, I really do not want to be chewed out by Miles or Cobb again. Once was enough."

The architect winced at the reminder. Several months ago, the point man had called on her to design a simple maze for a small job. She had insisted on staying and ended up missing two important classes. When she returned to Paris, Professor Miles gave her a long talking to about how the world of dream sharing shouldn't take precedence over her real life. She thought that was the end of that. Little did she know that the professor had also gone to Cobb and the two, extractor and father-in-law, proceeded to give Arthur one hell of a talking to. From what she had gathered, there was a lot of yelling involved and a threat or two.

"As much as I appreciate Professor Miles and Cobb looking out for me," Ariadne said, getting up from her seat, "I really don't like that they treat me like a child. It's not like I'm actually in the field with you guys. I just design the levels."

"Don't take it so badly," Eames said to her, giving Arthur an amused and knowing look, "You're not the only one they've ever treated that way."

The point man could have glared holes into the forger's head his look was so severe, "Let's get back to work. Now."

…~~~~…~~~~…

Ariadne yawned, adjusting the strap of her backpack as she walked down the long corridors of the airport. She double checked that she had her passport in her pocket and looked over to Arthur, who was pulling along her luggage for her.

"You really didn't have to drive me here," she said with a smile, "I could have gotten here on my own."

"Yes, but then that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, now would it?" Arthur replied with a smile of his own.

They approached the queue for the airline the architect was supposed to get her boarding pass from and they stopped just short of entering the line. Arthur handed the bag he had been pulling along over to its rightful owner. The two stood there for a long moment and the point man could tell that something was on the younger woman's mind.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Well, Eames told me that he doesn't have a totem," Ariadne answered, pulling at one of her backpack straps, "I thought everyone you worked with had one."

"That's not really how it works," the point man replied, "I'm sure Cobb explained it to you at some point, but totems were Mal's idea. Only those close to her have one. You have one because Cobb wanted you to be sure of your reality, especially because of what he was going through at the time you met him."

"So, then what's with the poker chip?" she asked, her interest visibly written across her features.

He smiled and shook his head, "I honestly have no idea."

"Damn," Ariadne gave a good natured smile, "I'll get it out of him someday."

"I'm sure you will," Arthur gave a small laugh, "Now, get going or you're going to miss your flight."

…~~~~…~~~~…

"Shit!" Arthur cursed as he ducked behind a column that did little to conceal him from incoming fire. _This is all going to hell in a hand basket._ He should have seen it coming, especially when their extractor started asking questions about the final layout of the maze right before they went under. He should have known he needed more than just a Plan B on this one because Plan B wasn't working out.

From across the room, the point man could see Eames running for cover, carrying the PASIV in one hand and a gun in the other. The forger swore when he hit the ground next to the younger man, a bullet sinking into the column next to him. They crowded there, watching as the rest of their team made their escape through an opening in the side of the warehouse. It was only a small hole, one that they had wanted to patch when they had first arrived. Arthur was glad they hadn't found time to fix the opening or they would have been trapped.

"Let's get out of here!" the point man called above the sound of gunfire.

The forger nodded and made to get up. He heard the sound of a small, plastic object falling from his pocket. He looked back to see the poker chip rolling away from him. He let go of the PASIV and moved to go after it just as more bullets honed in on them.

"Eames!" Arthur yelled, grabbing the forger by the arm and heaving him toward their escape route, "Don't you dare!"

"Let go!" Eames protested, trying to get out of the younger man's grip. He pulled out of Arthur's grasp, but the moment he took a step forward a bullet grazed his shoulder causing him to cry out in surprise.

"Damn it!" the point man swore, grabbing the forger by the back of the collar with one hand and the PASIV with the other. He dragged Eames to the opening and shoved the other man through, quickly following.

They made it to the getaway car they had parked just a couple of miles away. Arthur was about to urge Eames to drive, but upon seeing the look on the forger's face, he decided against it. The point man got the other man into the passenger seat before he went to the driver's side and fired up the ignition. From out of the corner of his eye, he could see Eames absently rubbing his fingers together. Arthur doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes his foot off the brake and pushes the car to full speed out of the area.

…~~~~…~~~~…

Eames had a distant look in his eyes when they were finally settled in the safe house. He kept putting his hand in his pocket, as if expecting to pull something out each time he repeated the action. He unconsciously flexed his fingers, moving them as if there were an object in his hand, as if his chip were still in his possession. Arthur watched from a distance, knowing that the forger would want to go back and get what was rightfully his. It would be suicide.

"Eames," the point man said softly.

"Don't," the forger put his hand up, impatient and unwilling to listen, "Just don't."

"I'm sorry," the younger man tried, his voice apologetic and filled with regret.

"Right. I'm going to bed," Eames said, getting up from his chair and going into the room he had deemed to be his. The door slammed shut with such force Arthur actually jumped in his seat.

"Damn it," the point man ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He knew he should have let Eames go after his poker chip, but at the moment all he could think about was getting everyone out of there, alive. He could feel his chest tightening uncomfortably, knowing just how important the object had been to the forger.

He sat for a long time, eyeing the door. He contemplated for a good while, biting his thumb nail, a nervous habit he hadn't indulged in for years. Finally, he got up and quietly, he made his way to Eames' door. He pressed his ear against it, listening for movement. When he heard none, he carefully turned the handle and opened the door.

Light streamed into the dark room and he could see Eames' prone form on the bed, breathing evenly. _He's already asleep,_ Arthur thought as he silently approached the forger's bedside. He stood for a moment, just watching the other man sleeping, breathing evenly and calmly, as if the whole day hadn't happened. He bit the inside of his mouth, feeling the guilt of what had happened back at the warehouse. _I shouldn't have stopped him. He knew the risks._

Reaching into his pocket, Arthur pulled out a small, red die. He held it in the palm of his hand, examining the totem even as he made up his mind. Carefully, he placed it on the small table beside Eames' bed and quietly made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him with hardly a sound.

The point man grabbed his coat and making sure his weapon was loaded, he left the safe house.

…~~~~…~~~~…

"_What is that, a poker chip?" Arthur asked, watching Eames flip a small red object back and forth between his fingers._

"_Yes, very observant, Arthur, as always," the forger quipped before pocketing the item._

"_Is that going to be your totem?" the point man asked, going back to his notebook, scribbling down notes._

"_I know you like to believe me simple minded, but honestly, I'm not that stupid," Eames said, irritation obvious in his voice, "I'll have you know, I don't even like the idea of a totem."_

"_Suit yourself, Mr. Eames."_

…~~~~…~~~~…

Arthur left the engine running as he exited the car. He looked at the warehouse, searching the parameter. He could already see that there were armed guards circling it. _They knew to wait, just in case. _Arthur thought, feeling his heart rate climb. He took a deep breath and drew his weapon as he moved with determined strides.

…~~~~…~~~~…

"_So, does that thing have meaning to you?" Arthur asked, not looking up from his paper work. He could already tell that Eames was playing with the poker chip, as always. Every job they've done together, the forger had played with the thing. It was almost as if it helped Eames think. Sometimes, it looked like a worry stone as well._

"_Curious, are we?" Eames asked in return, smirking, though he didn't look in the point man's direction._

"_It's my job to know the people I work with," the younger man shrugged. But the forger could hear that hint of inquisitiveness in Arthur's voice._

"_I'll tell you when I'm ready."_

…~~~~…~~~~…

Eames woke, feeling groggy and uncomfortable. He groaned as he looked around the room, the unfamiliar setting jolting him into wakefulness. After one more pass he realized he was at the safe house, in a location where no one could find him. He breathed a sigh of relief before sinking back into the bed.

He rubbed his face with one hand, feeling a terrible ache in his chest. Now that he had his bearings, all he could think about was the fact that he had lost the poker chip. His fingers had been so close to it when he saw it rolling away. _I could have gotten it. Just a few more steps and I could have snatched it up!_ He thought, feeling a both anguish and anger building in him at the same time. _Damn it, Arthur._

Unable to sleep anymore, he sat up in bed and turned on the lamp on the small bedside table. He closed his eyes against the harsh glare of the light. When he felt that it was okay, he opened his eyes and immediately a small object drew his gaze. It was a red die, sitting on the table. He stared at it, brows furrowed in confusion, for a long moment before he got up and opened the door to his room. He looked around the small living space.

"Arthur?" he called, walking up to every room and looking in, "Arthur, where are you?"

Each room was empty and he felt a terrible sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach. He swore under his breath as he pulled on a jacket and walked out the front door. He immediately noticed that the car was gone and it left him with no way of leaving. He was miles away from anyone and the area was a complete dead zone for cellphones. He was stranded.

"God damn it, Arthur," he breathed.

…~~~~…~~~~…

"_How about I tell you a secret?" Eames asked, leaning against the back of Arthur's chair._

"_Excuse me?" the point man inquired, looking back at the forger._

"_Would you join me for a nice outing if I told you a secret?" Eames asked, smirking as he leaned in further, letting his breath ghost against the younger man's neck._

_Arthur pulled away and got up from his seat, "I don't think there's a thing I don't know about you, Mr. Eames."_

"_Well," the forger started as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, well worn poker chip, "I believe you don't know the story behind this."_

_The point man rolled his eyes, "I won't go anywhere with you for the secret behind that."_

"_Why not?" Eames asked, surprised by the answer._

"_Because it wouldn't be fair," Arthur explained, sounding casual, yet significant, "It means more than some date with me."_

_The forger was sure that if he had been joking about the outing, he certainly would have considered it just for that answer, "So, is that a no?"_

"_Dress nice. I'll pick you up at seven, sharp. And leave your secrets at home."_

"_You pick _me_ up?" Eames sounded incredulous._

"_That's what I said, Eames," Arthur responded with a smirk._

…~~~~…~~~~…

Arthur gasped for breath as he pressed his back against the wall, gun clutched tightly in his hand. At his feet was a guard he had just taken down, but the sound of gunfire had drawn the attention of others. The opening they had escaped from was only a few feet to his left. He knew he needed to make his way into the warehouse quickly and think of an escape route the moment he got in there.

He braced himself and ran toward the small hole in the wall. He made his way through it and found that the warehouse wasn't fully lit. His eyes immediately scanned the area and saw that there was a small clump of guards standing by the main entrance. Then he scanned the floor and saw the poker chip. _Fuck, _he mentally swore. It lay completely in the open. He knew the moment he ran out to retrieve it he would be an open target, welcoming gunfire from all directions. _This is going to be a lot harder than I thought._

…~~~~…~~~~…

"_How long have we been doing this?" Eames asked, stroking Arthur's hair._

"_How long have we been doing what?" the point man asked, looking up from his place next to the forger on the bed._

"_Whatever it is we call this."_

"_You mean dating? Being in a relationship?"_

"_Are we in a relationship?"_

"_I'd say six months of putting up with you is a relationship," Arthur said with a playful smirk._

_Eames put a hand over his heart, "Oh, you wound me with your words!"_

_The point man rolled his eyes and laughed, "Why do you ask?"_

"_Because I want you to know that you mean a lot to me."_

"_You mean a lot to me too."_

"_Would you like to know a secret?"_

"_If it's about the poker chip-"_

"_No, not that."_

"_Then what?" Arthur asked, shifting in bed so he was face to face with Eames._

_The forger only smiled, planting a soft kiss on the other man's lips, "I love you."_

"_I love you too," Arthur answered, kissing the older man back, smiling so wide their teeth clicked together._

…~~~~…~~~~…

Eames drew his gun and rushed to the door when he heard someone pounding on it. He hadn't heard a car and instantly thought that it wasn't an invited party. He carefully pulled the door open, his weapon drawn. The sight he saw before him only made him tense even more, though he lowered his gun. Arthur stood before him, leaning against the doorframe, bleeding from multiple wounds and cradling his left wrist gingerly against his chest. The younger man was giving him a weak smile.

"You absolute idiot," Eames hissed, moving forward to lead the injured man indoors. Before he could reach out, Arthur pitched forward causing the forger to drop to his knees and lean forward just in time to catch the point man. "Damn it!"

The forger carefully pulled Arthur up, supporting the point man the best he could. He made his way into the safe house and closed the door behind him before leading the younger man over to the couch and setting him gently down on it. Arthur groaned and hissed in pain, but hardly moved.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Eames could hardly keep his voice at a reasonable level, "You could have been killed!"

"I'm fine," Arthur's voice was weak, but determined.

"Bullshit!" the forger rummaged through drawers and boxes until he found the first aid kit and the tools he needed.

"I think my wrist is broken," the point man said, sounding drowsy.

Eames sat down on the couch and put the first aid kit between them, "Goddamn it, Arthur. What the hell were you thinking going back there?"

The point man extended his right hand in a closed fist. The forger gave Arthur a confused look for a moment before reaching out his open palm. The younger man opened his hand and allowed a small, well worn, red poker chip to fall into Eames' hand.

The forger could hardly breathe, "You fucking idiot."

Arthur gave a weak laugh, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth as he closed his eyes, "I knew you'd say that."

"Arthur!" Eames cried, seeing the other man's body relaxing onto the couch as if all life was fleeing. He took the man by the shoulders and shook him, "Arthur!"

…~~~~…~~~~…

When Arthur woke, the pain hit him so hard he practically screamed. Instead he gritted his teeth and tangled a hand in the blanket across his chest, gripping it so hard he was sure his knuckles were white. Catching his breath, he realized that his left arm was splinted and in a sling. He let his eyes survey the room to take in his surroundings. He was on the couch in the safe house. Across from him, he saw Eames sleeping in the armchair, shirt stained with blood. _My blood, _the point man thought as he tried to push himself up. He fell back, unable to hold himself up, and cried out in pain which caused the forger to jolt awake in his seat.

"Hey, don't move," Eames said in a soothing tone as he placed a gentle hand on Arthur's chest, "You're going to pull out your stitches."

"Yeah, I figured," the point man said with a groan, "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," the forger answered, "I managed to get a call out to one of our doctor friends after I found that we have a landline here that still works. He should be here tomorrow morning to look you over. Your left wrist is broken. You also have some internal bleeding and that's nothing I can fix."

"That's good," Arthur breathed, closing his eyes as he tried to relax against the pain coursing through him, "Doesn't sound terribly bad."

They stayed silent for a long moment.

"How did you manage to get back here without the car?" Eames finally asked.

"It broke down a few miles away," the point man explained, "I figured it'd be better to ditch it anyway and walked back."

"In your condition?"

"I made it, didn't I?"

"You're so damned stupid sometimes."

"I know, you've told me before."

"Why did you go back for it?"

Arthur opened his eyes and looked up at Eames then, smiling as best he could, "Because it means something to you."

"It's not worth your life," the forger countered, though he was holding the poker chip in his hand.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't have meaning for you. This is just a poker chip to you. You have no memories attached to it."

"But you do and I know that it must be important or you wouldn't have wanted to get it when we were in the middle of a fire fight."

Eames drew a shaky breath, "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you about it now?"

"Only if you want to."

The forger gave the younger man a gentle smile as he reached out and stroked his dark hair. He could hear Arthur sighing, feeling soothed by that one small action. Eames licked his lips, "I was an orphan and I know you know that, but let me tell the story anyway."

Arthur gave a small, frail laugh at that.

"When I was thirteen, I decided to run away from the orphanage, from the children that made fun of me. They didn't consider me very smart because I didn't like speaking very much, as hard as that is to believe," Eames smiled at the way the corner of the point man's lips quirked up at that, "I was homeless and tried to steal to stay alive. One day, I tried to pick pocket a beautiful woman who looked like she could hardly defend herself. She grabbed my hand when I reached into her purse, but didn't call for help. Instead, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted a warm meal and perhaps a warm bed as well."

"What was her name?" Arthur asked, leaning into the hand the forger had tangled in his hair.

"Her name was Amelia and she took me in. She was like a mother to me. She was a risk taker, a daredevil really. Her wealth brought her boredom and she ended up becoming a con artist to pass the time. She was one of the best and ended up teaching me the tricks of the trade "to keep you alive through the hard times" she told me," Eames smiled at the memory as he flipped the chip from finger to finger, "This poker chip belonged to her. She said it was her good luck charm. It was the first one she ever won when she started gambling."

"What happened to her, Eames?"

"She conned the wrong person. They ambushed her at her home. I was still living there at the time and she told me to hide. I hid in her closet when they confronted her," the forger explained, his voice tightening with emotion, "I had to watch as they did terrible things to her. They shot her three times in the chest and left her for dead. When they had gone, I crawled out from my hiding place and she asked me to give her the poker chip. I slid it into her hand and she gripped it tight. Then she looked at me and with her dying breath told me to take it… to get me through the hard times."

"Eames…"

"I held onto it and I tracked down the men who killed her. I knew it was wrong, but I did right by her and that was all that mattered."

"Eames."

"Arthur."

"I'm glad I went back for it."

"And I still say you're an idiot for doing so," The forger gave a quick laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Then he faced the younger man, unable to keep his gratefulness from his voice, "Thank you."

Eames planted a soft kiss on Arthur's lips and sighed in content when the other man kissed him back.

**End**

…~~~~…~~~~…

**Note: **I've wanted to write something like this for a long time. I've never thought of the poker chip as Eames' totem, more of an item of significance. Like what Arthur says in the movie, a totem has to be something unique and a poker chip looks an awful lot like a coin when you think about it. I just thought maybe inventing a back story for it would be nice.

Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and will let me know what you think!


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